


people we'd be together.

by gavinsaleks (ohmaggies)



Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake Chop, Falling In Love, It's 2012, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death, Road Trips, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 02:35:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16631222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmaggies/pseuds/gavinsaleks
Summary: They're staking their lives on Aleks the way they've staked their lives on each other for years. James tells himself this is no different just because it's Aleks he's relying on this time.It doesn't feel different at least.That's something, it's not nothing and it's not everything - it's something..Immortal shows up exactly three weeks after Dan dies, and Nova's not quite sure if he can trust him.





	people we'd be together.

**Author's Note:**

> wow it's been a while huh gjfndjdjd. i came back from the dead to post this and also, because it's my one year anniversary of the first cowchop fic i posted! i wrote this in about three days and it was an absolute mess that I wasn't going to ever let see the light of day, but [mây](http://roccketraccoon.tumblr.com) was amazing and beta'd this fic for me unbelievably quick. and also reassured me it was Okay. so here it is, and i'm not 100% happy with it but it's Here and Posted and i wanted to put something out for my one year! 
> 
> i'm also working on plenty more fic (this was about a 20k dent in the 60k+ words worth of fic i have sitting around collecting dust, and it's nice to be able to post it) so hopefully this won't be the only thing i post before year's end. writing is Hard and i'm slow.
> 
> also!! thank you to mây for listening to me talk about this fic, and also for being so nice when i messaged her mid breakdown over how worried i was about it. and a massive thanks to everyone who has read, commented or left kudos on one of my fics. time sure flies when you put out unneeded fic for a small fandom fjdjjdnd. but seriously, this has been the most fun i've ever had writing and i look forward to whatever the next year holds. 
> 
> anyways, onto the fic! 
> 
> \- rachel.

 

 

 _“ Names of poisons, names of_  
_handguns, names of places we’ve been_  
_together, names of people we’d be together,_  
_Names of endurance, names of devotion,_  
_street names and place names and all the names_ _  
of our dark heaven crackling in their pan.”_

_-_ Richard Siken, from ‘ _Crush_ ’

 

.

 

**Somewhere in Littleton CO, July 2012.**

 

James doesn't remember exactly when they met, or how, or why, or what he said. Memories of it are distant and out of reach, no matter how hard he tries to scrape his brain for fragments of their first conversation; he remembers his first thought, eyes settled on the surface of this kid, with too much hair and too much mouth, and a hoodie two sizes too big: _I'll be scared of losing you if you stick around._

As far as James knows, he isn't, except there's a gentle mumbling at the back of his mind that reminds him these are early days. He's known Immortal for a few months, and he knows that Immortal is understandably stubborn about sticking around (despite Jordan's polite insistence that it isn't safe), that he owns two hoodies yet insists on wearing the same one every day, that he rarely gets his hair cut and shoves it under a beanie when it's windy out, and that he's hardly the mouthpiece this crew needs.

They've spoken about keeping him around, making this seemingly temporary arrangement something permanent. Sly argues that Immortal knows these streets better than anyone else because he's spent so long running around them, and James holds his breath so he doesn't yell out of frustration, his hands already curled into fists and resting in his pockets.

No one gets it, no one understands it but him.

He glances around at his friends, at their determined faces. There's something there he recognises but wishes he didn't, the way they lean around casually as though they know something he doesn't. They know they want Immortal around, and they know James is outnumbered. It makes him want to scream, to frighten them with how loud his voice can get, make them gently tell Immortal that he isn't welcome around here anywhere.

You let one piece of the foundation - the _rules_ \- crumble away, you may as well topple the whole thing and then die. Those are crew rules, and when you're the most prevalent crew in Colorado and want it to stay that way, you follow the rules. James isn't a hardass or an asshole, he just has enough common sense to want Immortal to go away to somewhere. To anywhere. Anywhere that isn't around James, listening in on their heist plans like he has nowhere else to be - it worries James, makes him stutter over his words and talk louder to drown out his own thoughts. It makes him look over his shoulder too often to keep an eye on this so-called Immortal.

Even now he's not sure where Immortal’s loyalties lie and he's not exactly willing to find out the hard way that it's not with them.

This kid everyone's so infatuated with could fuck them over at any time if he wanted, and James won't say he's holding his breath and waiting for it to happen, but he wouldn't be surprised if it did. And when it does, he'll look at Jordan - with his expression a mix of shock, and the realisation of betrayal clear in his eyes - and tell him, “ _I told you so. I fuckin’ told you and you didn't listen.”_

They'll be sorry then, when Immortal turns out to be a rat and one of them ends up dead before they have the opportunity to realise they can't trust him. He'll sell them out, give their plans to someone else, kill one of them himself, and James will have the satisfaction of his gut feeling being right and also of finding a suitable punishment for Immortal before he can flee.

Just because his crew is too dumb to see it doesn't mean he is as well, and eventually they'll figure it out and they'll be sorry. And Immortal will be sorry, for fucking with them and destroying their trust like that, and for pissing James off.

He'll be real fucking sorry about that.

Nova's temper is an urban legend around Littleton for how many men haven't walked away from it, and when Immortal screws this up and gets one of them injured or worse, he'll discover why. Nova, like supernova, like a great explosion that takes down everything too close - Immortal will be sorry, and James won't be when he has to be the one to put a bullet through his mess of hair and his skull.

James won't be able to look him in the eye when he does it, and he doesn't focus on that single thought passing his mind. He'll kill Immortal when the time comes, but he won't be able to look him in the eye.

It doesn't mean he likes him, it means Immortal is young and it's a waste of a life that could've been long and happy. Any life dedicated to this business is a waste, anyway, James can say that much. What he won't say, despite the way the words hang at the back of his head, is that as much as he wants to be right, and as much as he dislikes the way his crew has distanced themselves from him because of a kid they don't know - James won't be able to say when Immortal is dead that he's happy about it.

He won't be happy about it.

In the moment, maybe his hand will shake and his breath will stutter and his fingers will become so slick with sweat that the trigger will be hard to pull. But, he'll pull the trigger and Immortal’s body will slump to the ground, lifeless, and James will get his crew and he'll get to hold this over them as a lesson.

_“We've got a good thing with the few of us, we trust each other. Do you see what happens when you try and change that?”_

And Immortal will be dead, and James will be able to relax, and James’ crew will have their heads on straight again. They'll understand why he protested against Immortal from the start, and they'll get what it means to not be able to trust people in this business. It's cutthroat, it's dangerous, and it's James having to kill someone to protect what's his.

His crew is all he has, and usually he'd trust them with something like this; but, he can't, not this time, not when there's something about Immortal that makes his whole body uneasy, like it's _wrong_. It doesn't add up, none of it does, and putting the lives of James’ friends on a stranger he can't trust goes against everything he knows and everything he can't do if he wants to keep his crew safe.

He'd do anything for them and they're too stupid, too naive to see that he's trying to help by getting rid of Immortal. The sooner he's gone, the sooner James will be able to breathe again. And, the sooner his crew will focus on what's really important instead of placing their love, their attention, their focus on some twenty year old kid they picked up off the street a few months ago.

They can't just… let whoever they want in. Especially Immortal, who has too much access to their plans and weaponry for James’ liking.

“Give him a chance,” Jordan says, gentle and a little bit condescending, like he thinks he's somehow better than James for trusting Immortal.

“Give him a chance,” Sly says, one hand on a controller and the other with clumsy fingers wrapped around a can of energy drink, his phone buzzing next to him with a text from the person he's continuing to vouch for.

“Give him a chance,” someone says, and this time James is sitting on a barstool drinking and he doesn't recognise the voice but he somehow talks _more_ than usual when he's drunk and this stranger likely holds knowledge of his entire life story by now. “You should give him a chance, see if it's so bad when you try to like him. You never know, man, might like him.”

So, a stupid drunk stranger thinks they know better than James? They probably do, really, but he'd never admit it.

.

Their fight, an explosion that has everyone around them confused by whether or not they should break it up or watch how it plays out, happens inevitably.

James storms through the front door from behind the wheel of their getaway car, his heist gun long forgotten which is probably a good thing considering, and Immortal’s head snapping up at the sudden intrusion, interested but cautious. He's sitting draped on one of their couches with his phone, and James all but throws himself in his direction, the door hitting the wall with a loud smack from where he's thrown it open.

“I _knew_ we couldn't trust you,” James spits and Immortal's face twists into complete and utter confusion. Somehow, he's smaller, sunk into cushions. James wants to pry him out of them, to drag him by his hair to show him what he did and prove to him that there are consequences to his actions, that he can't do what he did and get away with it.

James knows he did it, he _knows_.

“Jesus, Nova,” Jordan says from behind him in the doorway, out of breath from running to catch up. “What are you doing?”

“It was Immortal, this is all Immortal's fault. Look me in the eye, Jordan, and tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm fucking wrong, Jordan.”

Jordan doesn't, but he places a hand on James’ shoulder that means he respects him, he trusts him, and he wants to speak to him outside before James can escalate anything further. It's too late for that now, with James’ hands curled into fists and his vision red, and Immortal is watching this all play out like he's not entirely sure what's happening.

He's not sure at all, James can see it on his face, but he knows Immortal did it so feigning innocence isn't going to convince him that he didn't. Who else would’ve done it? How else could it have happened had it not been Immortal shoving his face and hands where they don't belong and purposefully meddling with Seamus’ gun?

It was Immortal, James isn't going to try convince himself otherwise.

“This is what happens when you let some inexperienced asshole of a kid into a crew he doesn't belong in,” James argues, raising his voice for show. Behind him, he wonders how Immortal is reacting to this, if he's so hurt he'll leave and never return or if he's going to shoot James in the back right now. “This is what happens when you can't trust that kid, and he tries to get us all killed.”

“...what?”

James turns to Immortal, ignoring the expression on his face that betrays how calm his hands are. He's nervous about being caught, because he thought he was clever and got away with it. But he didn't, and James is going to make him pay for what he tried to do to them - what he almost did, getting them killed by messing with their weapons.

Sly walks in, blood on his hands, eyes purposefully ignoring those of Immortal’s. He doesn't speak or explain or tell them all that Seamus will make it, he just looks at James, as though silently begging him to drop this and leave Immortal out of it. Like he knows Immortal isn't guilty of replacing all their bullets with ones that don't shoot, and jamming Seamus’ gun beyond repair.

It had to be Immortal.

There's no one else here that would've done that.

“You assholes understand why I didn't want him around, now?” James shouts, and Immortal's eyebrows dip at the centre, his lips pressed into a straight line. “You let him in and now he's screwing with us, trying to kill us so he can move on to the next gullible crew and fuck them up, too!”

“Why would I do that?” Immortal asks, hair falling in his eyes. “What the fuck, Nova? You think I'd-”

“I think you're an untrustworthy prick, Immortal, so, yeah, you'd do that. Colour me fuckin’ surprised that I was right.”

Immortal makes a face, hurt clear in his eyes. Nova ignores it, like he ignores how unreasonable he's being purely because he wants to be right. He wants to be right so he can make an example out of this, and so they can shake Immortal out of their hair and go back to the way things were before he showed up. To normalcy, to being able to talk openly about whatever because they had that trust that they've been missing in the months ever since Jordan and Sly began to act like they needed Immortal.

They need him gone, that's what they need.

“You're a dick,” Immortal manages, exasperated, and James is barely able to catch the way his voice breaks at the end. He's almost gone, he just needs one more little push, one more reason to need to get out of here, one more word from James to scare him into leaving.

“You think anyone here wants you around? ...You do, huh. Then why won't they stop me?”

Jordan's frozen behind James, eyes wide and arms loosely crossed over his chest. He and Sly are completely silent, and Immortal looks like a caged animal, sitting small on the couch not even bothering to try and silently plead to his friends for help. It's sad, and maybe James will think about this later and realise how awful it is, but his only focus right now is protecting his crew, and if that means killing their friend because he meddled with their equipment, then so be it.

“Stop you what?” Immortal manages, and when James takes a step forward, Jordan and Sly don't try and stop him; they're both still watching. Immortal knows, the way his eyes blink quickly and his body stiffens as he pulls himself up, adolescent limbs clumsy as they get used once again to carrying all his weight. “ _What_?”

James reaches behind him, to where a small revolver is tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He expects to feel Jordan's hands stop him but they don't, and Immortal's face pales when he sees the gun, has it pointed on him, with James’ finger easing back the trigger.

“What the fuck, dude?” Immortal's blinks too many times to be normal, clearly not understanding. “What the -”

“Your stupid stunt almost got Seamus killed!” James all but hisses, gun steady despite how shaky his hand is. “Think you can mess with our guns and we won't notice?”

Immortal’s voice goes a few octave higher as he says, “I didn't do anything, don't be an asshole!”

James shoots, and misses, and Immortal stills before his face loses all composure it once had. His eyes are so red and wet and _sad_ that James almost feels sorry for him, the way his hands are slightly raised like he can deflect bullets with them. He doesn't look scared, James notices, but he's hurt, and pained, and so trapped that it's too much to look at for a moment. Just a moment, long enough for James to get caught up in the bullet resting in the wall not far from Immortal's head.

When Immortal's legs work again and he pushes past James to get out of the room, James doesn't try and stop him.

“Congratulations,” Sly says, sarcastically, and then he's gone.

“James, I-” Jordan tries, taking his hat off then resettling on his head. Then, he's gone, too.

And James is alone staring at the bullet imbedded in a wall.

.

It wasn't Immortal, Seamus says. He's recovering slowly from a gunshot and James is playing with a dart he's supposed to be throwing at a board. He's losing because his focus is off, his thoughts haywire, his hands hard to keep still. And, it wasn't Immortal - it was the man they bought the bullets off, he must've sold them fakes hoping they wouldn't notice or they'd be too dead to go to him and demand answers.

They're all alive, though barely. It was a close call for all of them but Seamus could've died, and Jordan and some of the others have already gone to find the guy that almost killed them.

It wasn't Immortal, Joe says, which hurts more than anyone else saying it if only because he's James’ best friend and he's meant to have James’ back with everything. He heard about the fight from Jordan a few weeks ago, and Immortal hasn't shown up since so James rules it as a silent victory, even if James’ brain keeps bothering him by making him relive it.

He wanted Immortal gone and he is, but it doesn't feel right. Either for the sole fact that James accused him of something he didn't do and then almost killed him undeservedly, or the fact that no one but Seamus will look at James for longer than a few seconds and without any judgment.

It wasn't Immortal, James tells himself.

He throws the dart and misses.

.

Immortal shows up again, a ghost in the corner of every room. He doesn't ask for an apology and he doesn't acknowledge James so James doesn't acknowledge him, but there are too many silences when they end up in a room together because someone's gotten up and left, or James sat down to wait for someone and Immortal walked in. There's nothing that needs to be said despite how thick the air becomes, unbreakable even when Jordan walks in with a smile that gently fades.

It takes three weeks of Immortal hanging around for Jordan to confront James about it. He doesn't say it in bold terms, just walks up to James on an early morning before a heist and asks if he's okay, in general and with some of the changes around here.

James can call this crew 'his’ all he wants, it doesn't change the fact that it's Jordan's, and that Jordan will keep Immortal around if he wants. Which, he does. Which, James is trying and failing to be okay with. He either sucks it up and gets over himself, or he leaves because he's a grownass man who doesn't want to have to work around a guy he doesn't like.

He almost _shot_ Immortal clean in the head, he thought that'd be more than enough to scare him away or at least make him keep his distance. It didn't - _doesn't_ \- and it only really took a couple of weeks for him to start coming around again after all that had happened; James knows he's being irrational and he knows he's an asshole, but what he doesn't know is why Immortal is so insistent on being here. Out of all the places he could have been to and people he could have been with, he chooses a rundown house that rough-edged criminals plan their endeavours in.

Maybe James is the only real rough-edged one here, but that doesn't change the fact that everyone here is a criminal. They steal and kill, and have seen things that nothing can prepare you for. And Immortal chose this; most people don't have that opportunity, either born into it, forced into it, or they stumbled into it and couldn't get out if they tried.

James isn't entirely sure how he ended up here, or when he woke up and made the decision to make this a career - he also doesn't think about it enough to really know what his possible reasons for doing this are.

“I don't care if he's here,” James says, hating the wavering in his voice that betrays him. “Just keep him out of my way.”

“Got it,” Jordan smiles, more grimace than grin. He's ready to end the conversation but James isn't, making sure to catch his eye so he knows this isn't quite over.

James, cleverly, adds, “You get why I don't want him around, right? Jordan, you get it, don't you? That we can't trust him,” as Immortal rounds the corner.

They both go quiet as Immortal approaches, hair in his face, and it dawns on James that there are a billion handfuls of things he doesn't know about him. His real name, his age, where he's from, where his family is, if he has a girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever, if he hates James but he's willing to put it aside so he can stay here with his friends. Too many things, honestly.

James knows he goes by Immortal and that, despite it, he's only about twenty years old. He's heard him speak on the phone and the words out of his mouth aren't English so he's probably not American born and raised. And, he isn't engaged or married but he wears a ring on his right hand that James has been curious about since he noticed. He also knows that he almost shot Immortal so Immortal probably hates him, and if he did and wanted to get revenge, James couldn't fault him for that.

“Hey,” Immortal says, and it hits James after a beat of silence that he's talking to him.

 _Just keep him out of my way._ “Hey.”

Jordan is gone when James glances inconspicuously at his side to check. James doesn't want to say he's surprised that Jordan was okay with leaving the two of them alone considering what happened last time - an injury, and a gun, and Immortal almost slumped over dead because James overreacted - but he is, yet he's somehow more surprised that Jordan left when James said only moments ago that he didn't want to have to be around Immortal.

That includes speaking, something Immortal has dragged James into for seemingly no reason. Maybe he wants to shake hands and introduce himself, which he hasn't done in all the months he's spent here. Maybe he wants to smile long enough for James to trust him then slide a blade into the space between James’ ribs. Maybe he wants to talk, and maybe James is willing to listen to what he has to say.

“I cleaned a couple of the guns,” Immortal shrugs, hands nervously finding solace in his pockets. “Sly said this was yours so I didn't touch it, in case you're a better shot today or whatever. But if you want me to, I'm going to-”

“I’m good,” James interrupts, taking his backup revolver from its home in the waistband of his pants and placing it on the small table in front of him. “Thanks.”

 _In case you're a better shot today._ James almost wants to laugh, but the uncomfortable sensation in his throat and chest stop him. The fight was over the guns and Immortal was smart enough to actually mess with them this time, whether or not he was trying to help; if they jam or don't work, James’ next bullet won't pick a wall as its target.

“ _Ohh-_ kay,” Immortal exhales, a flash of rejection visible in his features. “I'll be here if you change your mind.”

“I won't,” James reassures, ignoring the way Immortal watches him retrieve his things so he can leave. He's not about to stick around for the rest of this awkward conversation, and he doesn't want Immortal to assume because they spoke once they're cool and he can go to James if he needs help, or something. It's best to just be polite in passing then leave, like he's doing now.

The expression on Immortal's face says he's not ready to end this, so James hurries to get going before he has to stay. He doesn't want to talk, especially to someone he hasn't been quiet about not liking.

He turns on his heel and intends to head to find Jordan and ask why he up and left like that, when he hears Immortal curse and breathe roughly **_._ **James can all but feel the tension, the way Immortal debates with himself over whether or not he should talk. When he finally does, his voice is rough and entirely unsure of itself.

“Did you mean to hit me?”

James knew he was going to say something, he just hadn't expected it to be that. It catches him off guard slightly, swaying where he is for a few sickening heartbeats before he turns hesitantly to meet Immortal's curious gaze.

“I tried to, yeah.”

“If you want me to be scared of you, maybe next time don't miss,” Immortal offers, testing the waters with a small smile curling at one corner of his mouth.

“I didn't exactly _try_ to,” James says, cheeks hot.

Immortal nods, face partially hidden by a dark fringe. He picks up the revolver James left behind and says he'll clean it for him, while he's here. It's a white flag, or an attempt at allyship, or Immortal's doing it out of awkwardness because for whatever reason, James is stuck here watching him. He wants to turn and leave, to focus on anything other than this, but he gets stuck. In more ways than one.

“See you around, I guess?” Immortal says, shy, his hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbow.

 _I hate you, James_  thinks, watching Immortal's figure descend down the hall, James’ revolver and other various equipment in hand. _I hate you._

.

Immortal's a good shot, which James, luckily, doesn't learn the hard way.

At some point, he turns pointedly in James’ direction and says, “Like to see you do that.”

James remains silent, knowing an olive branch when he sees one. He's trying to speak James’ language, the way he's smiling and squinting his eyes against the sun, and the lack of heat behind his words. Jordan wants to make Immortal a permanent fixture and unlike last time, he's not going to include James in the decision; he tells James quietly that it isn't personal, it's just business.

Just business, Jordan says, and James rips his arm from Jordan’s grasp and takes off down the hall. Sly and Jordan will choose to keep Immortal around, and James will have to try and trust someone new. They must all remember what happened last time, with Dan and the other guy they let in - James doesn't remember his name now, but he knows he's dead. One of them has to keep their wits and keep an eye on Immortal, and none of them are willing to have common sense so James have to. And _he's_ the bad guy for it, for trying to prevent past mistakes from happening again.

He won't let it happen again, not when Dan's death is a fresh wound in everyone's memory. It was not long before Immortal showed up, and the others were so quick to trust in a way James never has been.

The timing's off, the way Immortal was suddenly there and squeezing his way into their midst. It's off, James can't be the only one who thinks so. It's so off, he can't believe the others don't see it. They're smart, he'd never say otherwise, and it makes him feel as though there's something he's missing here, something they're not telling him for whatever reason.

Dan died and James made sure it couldn't happen again, and he'll always try to prevent it, but…

But they don't care, they just swooped Immortal up in their arms and gave him a roof and expected James not to care.

Fuck that.

“You better hope Immortal doesn't try to shoot you,” Sly says, beanie crooked on his head, attention pressed onto James.

“He wouldn't,” Jordan reassures, but there's that same condescending tone that suggests he knows better. “I'm glad he's good, though. Don't know what I expected, honestly, but it wasn't this.”

“He's a showoff,” James scoffs, pressing himself further into his chair.

Sly laughs, and James has to look away when he says, “I think you're jealous, man. He's good, you're not as good. Get over it.”

It's true, though James would never admit it. Immortal's a better shot than all of them, never missing the target despite his claim that it's the first time he's shot a gun. James wants it to be beginner's luck but also kinda doesn't; if it is then he's useless to them, but if it isn't then he'd be useful to have around, on heists or just in case they need him. In case someone gets hurt again, and they can't afford to turn down willing help when they're already a person down, or two if Dan is counted.

Maybe that's why Jordan organised this, to prove to James, an unwilling audience, that Immortal can pull his weight. James will buy it, and he'll tell anyone that asks that Immortal's an undeniably decent shot, but he wouldn't want to only rely on him on a heist. Sure, he's good, but he lacks the experience he needs to really be useful.

It's Jordan's insistence that has them here, despite Immortal's claim that he's always been more the knife type. That would be handy too, the hand-to-hand, and James can admire when someone's capable even if he dislikes them. Immortal would fill a gap in their crew they've been missing for a while, but it makes James’ skin crawl, how similar it seems to replacing a dead friend of theirs.

Dan was barely cold when Immortal showed up. Now he's barely in the ground.

James doesn't trust Immortal, even when Sly slides an arm around James’ shoulders and tells him to celebrate, to go get drunk. Jordan denies as politely as he can, something about a woman waiting at home, and Sly is sober this month so he leaves despite being the one to initiate it. James is left standing in the door watching them go, Immortal at his back, the same one who could raise the gun he's holding and splatter James’ brain all over these walls.

Immortal wouldn't miss, either.

“There's a bar nearby,” Immortal says instead. James glances at him, no gun in his hands but its presence lingering on him. “I know the guy who owns it.”

James imagines refusing the offer because he knows he won't, because refusing means going home and drinking alone and somehow drinking at a bar with Immortal only just beats that. There's something more appealing about getting drunk in a room full of people who are also drunk, in comparison to being by himself in a small apartment and waking up tomorrow morning to a slew of bottles boobytrapping his floor.

“Okay,” James finds himself saying.

“Okay.”

The silence only lasts a few seconds before Immortal is tugging his sleeves down his hands, the fingers on his right gently pushing back the soft hair sitting on his head. He motions awkwardly for James to lead the way, as if he isn't quite sure how to speak to him; James can't blame him as he steps out the door into the barely lit hall, Immortal close behind.

This bar Immortal knows turns out to be a lucky bet, considering James doesn't have his I.D on him and Immortal is underaged, but the bartender waves at him as he enters and it's too personal, James realises. Getting this glimpse into Immortal's life, having to adjust himself to fit into it because this is Immortal's turf, and he willingly invited James into it.

A brief, fleeting thought passes James’ mind that this could all be either an elaborate plot to lure James in and kill him, or this is Immortal trying to make amends for things only James really needs to apologise for.

Neither of the two seems ideal, honestly.

“That’s Kevin,” Immortal says, voice low, pointing to the bartender at their left who's busy with someone else. Some old guy, who doesn't appear too happy about whatever's going on in his life.

“Isn't he underaged?” James asks, and his eyes meet the older man's. He looks away, instead glancing at the table they're at, balanced on stools, his finger scratching at a hole in the wood.

Immortal shrugs, and James almost throws his head back with an exhausted sigh. This was a mistake, coming here and agreeing to it and not just going home, but at least here's not alone, even if the company he's with is less than ideal. He could do worse than Immortal, like the friends of the guy that got Dan killed or the asshole that sold them the bullets that almost got Seamus killed or any of the other crews around here who regard loyalty as a foreign word.

At least Immortal has it to Jordan and Sly, James will give him that. He almost killed him and Immortal showed up a few weeks later, because that's where his friends were; loyalty or stupidity, sometimes the lines gets crossed, they might as well be the same thing.

“What can I get for you?”

James lifts his head, and the bartender, Kevin, gives him a small, calculating look that would be hard to miss had James not been James. He purposely avoids staring, instead casting his attention to the bar's menu postered to the wall - the drinks he knows are few and the ones he doesn't know dominate it, mostly he just wonders why on earth people would come here. It's not bad, as far as bars go, but the people here are older and almost all of them are carrying - this was a bad idea, James is too sober to care.

“Something strong,” he replies.

“Hope you're not a lightweight like our friend Aleksandr here,” Kevin laughs, even as Immortal - _Aleksandr_ \- goes completely still at James’ side. “Something strong coming right up for you, sir.”

Aleks’ hands are occupied with a can of Pepsi that James didn't see him get, and the silence between them is uncomfortable at best. James was right about this being too personal, because now he knows Immortal's name and he knows his friend's name, and he knows he comes here probably a lot because he knows the owner and he's friendly with the bartender.

James shouldn't have come, but he's here now and it's too late to back out and leave, and too late to pretend he isn't somewhat closer to Immortal than he even wanted to be.

Aleks. His name is Aleks.

James never wanted to know that.

“Immortal's a nickname,” Aleks offers, pulling the quiet from around them. “My friends call me Aleks, so pretty much only Kevin does. Jordan and Sly don't know, I just haven't gotten 'round to telling them yet. I probably should, now that you know. My arch nemesis, or whatever.”

“' _Ar_ _ch nemesis_ ,’” James echoes.

“You tried to kill me?” Aleks says, incredulous. “Dude… I am glad you can't shoot for shit, though.”

James holds his tongue as Kevin returns with a drink of something strong that James doesn't recognise. He catches Aleks watching him and doesn't say _me too, or_   _I wish I hadn't come out with you tonight and it's not that I'm scared of you, of getting close, it's just ten times harder to dislike someone when you know their name and their friends and even you can appreciate how good they are with a gun._

No, he doesn't say anything at all. Yes, he does notice Aleks’ eyes follow his every movement, including when he reaches for his glass and swallows his first mouthful, trying to control the way his hand won’t stop shaking. It's not the alcohol - which really is strong, Kevin wasn't kidding - but the company, maybe. Or maybe it's James’ own anxiety slipping in as natural as anything, reminding him that now he's said yes to drinking with Aleks, Aleks is going to think they're friends.

He'll go to James for help and say hello to him in the halls, and he'll invite James here again and be disappointed and confused when James say no.

And James _will_ say no, because he'll recall his fears in this very moment and he'll learn from history. This is Sly's fault, despite it really being James’ fault for saying yes and coming along when he knows he shouldn't.

Aleks is going to think they're friends.

James knocks back the rest of his drink without a second thought.

“Uh, thirsty?” Aleks asks, his laugh a soft whisper.

He's got the same can of soft drink as he did before, small beads of condensation dripping down the side, and Kevin is engaged in a conversation too intense and too far away for James to consider interrupting so he can get another drink. So, James does the only logical thing he can think of and does what he's good at: runs.

His jacket billows in the wind as he walks out the door, footsteps too far away in his own ears. He himself appears to be a few miles ahead of his own body and if this weird out of body experience is a result of whatever that drink was and what it feels like to hang around Immortal - _Aleks_ \- for too long, then James has a good enough reason to never return, especially with Aleks.

“Nova!” Aleks yells after him, and James doesn't turn to look at him. He can imagine the expression on his face, the misunderstanding clear as crystal in his eyes, and James hasn't shot Aleks but he bet the sensation of having him walk out without a word is somewhat similar.

“Nova!” Again, and again, and again, until Aleks either gives up and retreats inside the bar, or James’ ears give up on straining to hear Aleks’ voice through the whistle of cold wind.

James goes home, fumbling with his keys in the dark and hitting his head on the door handle when he kneels down to pick up the phone he dropped.

It definitely hasn't been his year or month or, more specifically, day. He shouldn't have entertained Aleks like that, accepting his invitation and cracking a smile at one of his jokes; it's wrong, it feels so wrong, and James wishes more than anything that he could go back in time and spend the night at home drinking alone instead.

James all but falls into his apartment, his vision blurred with lack of sleep and clumsy hands undoing the laces on his shoes.

_I'll be scared of losing you if you stick around._

He wishes he could sleep forever.

.

Planning their next heist goes about as well as James expected it to, considering he shows up five minutes late with no explanation and has to sit next to Aleks, who barely pays any attention to James’ existence for the majority of the time. Jordan made 'Immortal’ a permanent Creature and gave him the introductory course on all things crew related, like he should probably stay away from James if he values his life.

It's a joke; no one laughs but Jordan.

James just wants to get out of here as soon as he can, despite it barely having been five minutes since he walked through the front doors and had to do his best impression of a man who is completely, and utterly, okay. He fails, because Sly stares, and Jordan's welcoming smile falters, and Joe sends James a text that he doesn't read.

Aleks was asleep on the couch fitted into the heist room when James walked in, immediately going to sit down and squeezing himself into a small space that would be occupied by Aleks’ feet had his knees not been bent up to his chest. No one said anything about it, despite the awkward heaviness that cursed the room. Aleks chooses then to wake up, just as Jordan notices him passed out and sighs in disappointment.

No one says anything about how uneager James is to move away from Aleks, given the lengths he's gone to in the past to avoid being in the same room as him. No one says anything, even Aleks, whose expression betrays him when he identifies exactly who's sitting next to him. His face would be near unreadable had it not been for the frown, the ease of his eyebrows furrowing beneath the hair sweeping his forehead.

“Hey,” Aleks says, clearing his throat. His voice is thick with sleep, and he looks just about how James feels.

“Hey,” James replies, cool and calm and ignoring every glance he can feel burning across him.

Jordan lays their research out on the table, with maps and timetables and blueprints, and his smile is blindingly proud when he says Immortal will be joining them. James wants to argue, to get up and say he doesn't want to have to watch out for Aleks in the field because he probably won't know what the fuck he's doing. He doesn't, and he chalks it down as exhaustion, as being so tired he doesn't have the will to argue; if it's not that, he's just gone soft.

James doesn't know if he's more surprised by his silence or his friends are, Jordan's eyes meeting his almost as if daring him to disagree. James stares, defiant but accepting, and nods in agreement when Sly asks from the opposite side of the small room if they can hear these plans or if Jordan's going to make them guess what they're doing.

It's been two days since the bar, and James needs this heist more than he needs anything.

“You'll be with Nova,” Jordan says, attention focused solely on Aleks. “We might need backup so you'll be here. James usually does it himself but - I'm sure he won't mind the help, it can be pretty boring sometimes.”

“James?” Aleks asks, as though he hasn't filled in the blanks yet.

“ _Nova_ ,” James corrects, and Aleks beside him is too close to be remotely comfortable. For either of them.

Aleks nods, and James leans back with a heavy sigh. He knows firsthand how difficult heist planning is, particularly when they only have less than a month to carry it out. They follow a formula for every heist so it's not the remembering it that's the problem, it's the last minute adjustments and memorising the building plans in case something goes wrong and they need to flee. It's the night spent in bed weeks before wondering, and fearing, of the possibilities of it going wrong; someone getting shot or dying, or getting arrested, or a number of things that are on a road James has gone down a thousand times.

This could be Aleks’ first and last heist - they're all thinking it so James doesn't feel too guilty about letting the thought pass through his mind. The day Dan died, they hadn't known it was going to be the last time he would ever be there with them, and they certainly hadn't known when they woke up that morning that by the time the night came, one of their closest friends wouldn't be alive anymore.

You can't pick those things and you most definitely can't guess them, but you can assume. You lessen the pain that way, by assuming any one of them or all of them might not make it out of this alive.

James hasn't yet decided if he wants to outlive his friends or if he wants them to outlive him, though he knows he doesn't want to have to be the last one left. One of them will live long enough to see this end, and James has had plenty of nightmares about surviving the things they don't to know he couldn't do it for real.

They have three weeks to plan and ensure this heist is perfect, and to make sure Aleks is ready to be out there for the first time. James is partly more curious about why Jordan thought putting them together would be a good idea than he is about why everyone's so okay with letting Aleks come along despite his lack of experience making him more of a burden than an asset.

It's what Jordan wanted, and he gets what he wants. That's how it goes considering he's the sole leader now that Dan's gone, and James has gone steadily from second in charge to _something_.

He's hardly sleeping, he's drinking, he's barely showing up on time on the days he's meant to be here, and he only just manages to sit here still and patient for hours at a time. Heist planning and going over is his least favourite part of all this, because as dangerous as the actual heist is, nothing is better than the sense of belonging he gets holding a gun. The boring stuff is Jordan's and Joe's forte, usually, and the others are more than happy to give them that responsibility.

It's a pretty shitty responsibility, if James is honest.

“Nova?”

James glances up, every pair of eyes on him, and his leg shakes subconsciously. He's not entirely sure what he's nervous about, or if it's nerves, but he knows he should be.

“You were listening, right?” Joe asks, though the answer's already obvious.

“Yeah,” James lies, pushing himself up to a position that's more sitting, less slouching.

Jordan doesn't smile in a way he typically would, instead his expression is too serious for James’ liking. “I'll send you these and you'll need to go over them in your free time,” he says, avoiding eye contact. “... And, I asked if you had spoken to anyone about fixing that bullet hole you left in my office. When you tried to shoot Immortal.”

“Yes to both, Koots,” James says, only partly lying. He spends every free moment before a heist going over each and every plan like the details might change suddenly, and no, he hasn't spoken to anyone about repairing the bullet hole.

Jordan looks at him and then right through him. He's always known James in a way that is unnerving, and Jordan has a habit of being able to read people as easy as people read simple words. James, knowing that Jordan is aware that he's lying, will die on this hill of lies if he must, because he's not going to complicate things by admitting he hasn't bothered calling a repairman or even just fixing it himself when it's been weeks since it happened.

He's had plenty of time to do it, but he never bothered. Or he forgot. Or he was drunk. Or he avoided it so he didn't have to remember that afternoon.

Everything goes silent for too long, until Sly asks a question and the few people gathered at the table discuss it among themselves. Aleks, unpredictably, is looking at James as though he's been waiting to say something that he won't get to say.

James stands and walks past him, brushing his legs with his own in the small space, and he refuses to acknowledge how many other times he's done this. Running away just seems like the right thing to do in the moment so he clings to it and does just that - he doesn't need to turn to glance behind him to know Aleks hasn't stopped watching and that his mouth is collecting unsaid words for later.

On his way to his own small room, James passes Jordan's door and halts to push it open and to examine the bullet hole in the wall.

The one James left there a month ago. And where another mark used to be.

_“Did you mean to hit me?”_

He wasn't aiming for Immortal, he was aiming for a spot in the wall where a small dent is visible from the doorway, right next to where Immortal's head happened to be.

He was never aiming for him.

.

James does what he usually does when things around him get tough: throw himself into his work.

It's a pleasant distraction from whatever the mess inside his head looks like, and Jordan said a while ago that's it's what's really important, this business and this job and preparing yourself whenever you can. So you can be ready. James never really asked what for but it sounded like the kind of thing you take to heart, and he did, which is what leads him to the armoury after he left his boss, friends and Aleks behind in the heist planning room.

Immortal - _Aleks_ \- has been doing the regular checks on their weapons as a way of doing his part, and James ignores the cautious voice that is barely an echo in his head. He knows Aleks could've messed with them, if he was stupid, and maybe James will regret thinking it later, but he trusts that he wouldn't. Aleks has been here for four months now, and while that isn't exactly good proof that he wouldn't try to kill them, James is willing to trust him.

They're staking their lives on Aleks the way they've staked their lives on each other for years. James tells himself this is no different just because it's Aleks he's relying on this time.

It doesn't _feel_ different at least.

That's something, it's not nothing and it's not everything - it's something. He still double-checks every weapon he knows Aleks touched for sure, still makes note that none of his guns, besides his pistol, have been disturbed. James told him not to so he didn't, so James collects what he can and does it himself, disassembling and cleaning his guns, and trying to live with the horrible silence that usually accompanies this room when it comes.

He can't hear anything over his own heart, keeping him alive in spite of years of neglect. The silence and his heart, and the beginning of soft footsteps heading his way.

He doesn't want to talk to anyone, let alone Jordan. The entire conversation will be pressing questions, concerned glances, and trying and failing to fully understand why James is like this. To be fair, James barely knows himself; he knows he hasn't slept right since Dan, and that every victory they don't have is somewhat of a personal failure to James, a reminder that they trusted and that trust got one of their friends killed.

It _is_ a personal failure, yet not even a scratch on the surface of things that are keeping James from sleeping. And he's not about to tell Jordan this.

Except, the person who appears in the doorway isn't Jordan. They're around the same height but they couldn't be more different, and James is slightly relieved though he won't admit it.

“Hey.”

James turns to look against better judgement, trying to see past the mask Aleks is wearing to what's underneath. Is he worried, scared, angry about the bar the other night, or is he just curious? - James can't tell, because Immortal used to be easily readable, but there's an air about Aleks now that says he's doing his best to hide himself from James. Maybe he knows too much already, from the bar Aleks frequents to his friends to his real name.

If James was Aleks, he'd hide from him too.

“Hey,” spills from James’ mouth before he can catch it.

Aleks’ hoodie is the same one he's always wearing, making James wonder if he has more than one of the same hoodie. That or he never washes it; if he wore it everyday, it'd be more worn through, like the pair of sneakers James has been clinging to for the past three years. Of all the things to think about right now, he isn't sure why his brain settled on this. Aleks’ hoodie and the fact that he's worn it everyday James has seen him since the first time they met.

This occupying his mind is a better alternative to going over the heist in his head for as long as it takes to drive him to near insanity. The heist, and the possibility that one of them or two of them or all of them may not make it back to the base after it's done. It wouldn't be the first time, that's for sure, but he feels like the only one that's been left mourning it.

He needs a drink, whatever it was that the kid Kevin gave him the other night. Something strong and debilitating and harsh enough to remind him why he used to hate the taste of alcohol.

“... You wanna go somewhere? Get out of here?” Aleks asks, like he's trying to help. Maybe James looks like he's on the verge of a panic attack as much as he feels he is.

 _I'm busy,_ James wants to say, definite and undeniable. Instead, he barely manages to keep his eyes away from Aleks, hands grasping onto a gun he has no intention of shooting. He doesn't trust Aleks, that's an unsaid given between them. He's never quite asked if Aleks trusts him, considering how cold he is towards him and that he almost shot him, so he's surprised that Aleks does.

He must.

James clears his throat, offers a small and strangled, “No.” It's not quite the _‘I’m busy’_ he wanted, but it'll have to do.

Aleks stays hovering in the doorway, as if unsure if that was James’ subtle way of telling him to go away. James thinks it was, just not what he wanted it to be; it should've been harsher, more difficult to ignore, and an _'I'm busy’_ would've told Aleks in fewer words that James doesn't want him around. He was meant to say it, really, and he would've, but - yeah, he doesn't know where that sentence is supposed to end, just that it's meant to end.

“What are you doing here, Aleksandr?” James chokes, losing whatever composure he was barely holding onto a few moments ago.

He drops his gun and Aleks stares at his face, eyes not moving to regard the mess James has made. James is oddly aware of how easy it would be to pick up any one of these things and shoot at Aleks again, even though he never actually would. He wonders if Aleks would continue to trust him, if he'd leave for good this time, if he'd return the favour by killing James right here. James would deserve it, he doesn't have the energy to doubt that.

“Uh, you left?” Aleks says, scratching the back of his neck. “During heist planning?”

It's not an explanation but somehow is, and James will take it as one. He wants to be mad though he knows he can't be, not right now, not when Aleks is the only person who bothered to check on James after he walked out. James doesn't think about what it means because it doesn't have to mean anything if he doesn't want it to, so it doesn't mean anything. Or, it means one thing: his friends don't care.

“You think... you think we could get out of here?” James asks, swallowing his anxieties.

Aleks steadies himself where he was leaning heavily into the doorway, shock on his face fading into an expression James can't completely decipher. He's seen it before, just once, when he left Aleks in a crowded bar without a word. It's less sad this time, more disbelieving.

“Where?”

“Kevin working today?”

Aleks smiles, a hardly there tug at his lips that is warm and welcome and the nicest anyone has looked at James in years. “It’s three in the afternoon,” Aleks says, smile slightly fading. Then, “Come on.”

James mutters a near inaudible thanks, wiping his dirtied hands on his thighs and leaving the remains of his gun there. Jordan will probably come along and put it away, or one of the others, and James wants to know how far away that particular event is. He wants to know how long it'll take for his friends to realise he and Aleks are gone, and if they'll bother texting or calling.

He knows the answer to all of his questions, it’s not that he doesn't - he just doesn't want to believe he's right.

.

It takes James almost all of the five months Aleks has become a permanent presence in his life for him to stop wondering what Aleks is doing hanging around a group of criminals. It wasn't a hard task, figuring out the answer, but nothing ever was when James has put his mind into it. He asks around, coming to the bar when he knows Aleks won't be there and talking to Kevin. He calls up old contacts for a quick 'hello, how you been?' and subtly brings up the name 'Immortal' as the conversation goes on.

Old contacts being Brett, mostly, who says he's heard of the kid, of his name, at least, and his life on the street which forced him to grow up faster than his age could follow.

"He's a tough one," Brett says, with a sort of respect that James hasn't heard him speak about anyone in a long while. "Not the bad kind, though. Nothing you should worry too much about."

James mumbles a half-ass excuse when Brett asks not so softly why he’s so curious. _Because of Dan,_ is what he really wants to say. It’s not entirely true, but it’s not completely a lie, either. He wants to make sure he’s not going to put his trust on someone who will most certainly end up fucking him over, not when James has been so careful about not getting too close. But at the same time, there are hours he’s spent with Aleks in bars, together but neither ever tries so hard for conversations that they both know will get awkward sooner or later. There are amused looks exchanged in a crowded room when one of their friends says something stupid, and there are nights - more than just once - where Aleks drags James home because he’s too drunk to do it himself.

The first time that happened, it was the same night that James walked out of the heist planning; the very same night he drank whatever drink Kevin put in front of him and ended up drinking so much that Aleks had to step in and offer to take him home.

First time quickly followed by the second, then the third, and before James knew it, Aleks has been to James’ apartment more often than any member of his crew, more than Joe or Jordan or Sly. James can almost feel it getting to a point where he’s trying to pull himself back and block Aleks out like he’s always done before, but he’s trying, okay, he’s trying. It’s just so hard, not knowing exactly what this is or who Aleks really is or if James will get hurt the moment he lets his guard down and allow himself to trust Aleks. James wants to know, to be sure, that his trust won’t be wasted on Aleks. He wants it not to be, stupidly so.

James still hates him, he hates him so much. Yet, he remembers the earlier days and the thoughts of shooting Aleks for inevitably betraying him and his crew, and how hard it would be to look him in the eye as he did it. He knew he couldn’t then, and he knows he can’t now, like he knows a handful of other things that he has opted to ignore. It’s self-preservation, _this_.

“I hate you,” he tells Aleks, who has one hand holding James’ apartment door keys and the other keeping James from falling over.

Aleks steadies him and in the dimly lit hallway it’s hard to see the way his eyes sadden, but they do. James would think about it in the morning if he could remember it, which he won’t. He won’t remember brushing hands and long goodbyes when he’s sober enough to give one, and he certainly won’t remember the distance that continues to close between them. It’s only been two weeks of this but James can’t keep doing it; it’s confusing, it’s messy, it’s tricking Aleks into thinking they’re friends and this is all okay when it’s really not.

“I know,” Aleks says, hair covering his face as he gets the door open and moves to help James inside.

James falls asleep on his couch and when morning comes, he doesn’t recall the night before. Nothing but the phone call with Brett outside the bar, Aleks inside waiting for James to return, completely unaware of what exactly is happening.

He spends the whole morning throwing up liquor from the night before and the bile that’s lining his stomach, and calls in sick for work.

 **From contact ‘Aleks’:** _you ok?_

James turns his phone off for the rest of the day.

.

Jordan offers to postpone the heist a week before, under the excuse of not knowing if everyone’s ready for it.

There are a hundred reasons he would think that and James safely assumes he’s ninety-nine of them. Aleks is either number one or one hundred, as no one is really trying to hide the worry that speaks in volume of how they think he might not be ready and it’s still too soon; after what happened with Dan and Seamus, they collectively try to silently find faults with every heist so they don’t have to risk it again.

Doing heists always comes down to one thing: they need the money.

James can't keep avoiding things, and neither can his friends. Expenses are low and the world isn't a cheap place to live in, so they need this heist. He'd do it himself if he had to, which isn't actually a bad idea considering then he wouldn't have to fear losing anyone but himself; and he’d be dead faster than his brain could really comprehend it.

“I can find something else,” Jordan says, and the air in the room releases then tightens simultaneously. “This heist is too dangerous for us right now, I'll-”

“Do we _actually_ have a choice, Jordan? Or are you bullshitting your way out of this?”

Jordan swallows, eyes hazardly meeting James’. His fingers are twitching, as though he's trying to keep his cool - it's a nervous tic, the same as Joe's continuous moving around or James rubbing his palms on his thighs or how Aleks doesn't stop shaking his leg because he finds it hard to keep still.

No one dare speak, and Jordan curses uncharacteristically under his breath. His hands are splayed on the table, fingers twitching slightly, and no one says anything. Everyone is so silent, James can hear Aleks breathing beside him, can hear the fabric of Aleks’ pants sliding along the couch as he taps his foot to an imaginary beat the rest of them can't hear. They're nervous, with their breaths caught in their throats.

“What if-”

“I'm with James,” Aleks says, sudden. The collective gaze in the room shifts to him. “Do we really have a choice?”

It's an odd turn of events, that Aleks is somehow the only person in a room full of James’ friends that trusts him. The others lay each and every expectation on Jordan's back, as though he's some kind of Messiah who can save them from everything. That kind of pressure takes its toll, from the beginning of soft wrinkles on Jordan's face to the exhaustion visible in his features. He's beyond tired, and the rest of them don't see it.

“No, we don't,” Jordan answers, raising his hands to adjust his hat. James was waiting for it, the touching the hat - Jordan reads people but James _knows_ them, and Jordan's dead giveaway was his fingers, the slight tremble in them, the trying to ignore the desire to show how nervous he is.

Admitting it isn't a choice is a weight off his shoulders, because his body almost sags from the relief of it, and James can see how truly done he is. Not with them or with this, but with forcing himself and them to continue on without Dan without a spare moment in between to mourn. James has been grieving for the past five months, and pushing this heist means being that much closer to a situation like that again.

But, they don't have a choice. They need this despite the consequences, despite the repercussions, despite how easily this might go wrong.

Jordan hits the table, hand in a fist and gentle but enough to shock everyone next to Jordan into standing up straight. Beside James on the couch, Aleks’ head snaps up in shock, concerned yet not making an attempt to go after Jordan when he leaves the room. Sly follows, after a heavy silence settles between everyone left behind by Jordan, then Joe slips out of the room with a point of his hand and a muttered, “I'm just going to…”

James doesn't understand how the fuck they got to this point, he really doesn't.

Next to him, Aleks still doesn't move. And when he eventually does, he's dropping his head into his hands and rubbing the balls of his palms into his eyes, voice a slightly muffled caricature of his own as he says, “Will he be okay?”

James can't bring himself to respond, because he knows that's an impossible question to answer. Hopefully, yes. Realistically, none of them have truly ever been okay so James doesn't want to say yes and lie. Every detail about this is making it harder and harder to deal with - at least Aleks has his back, he knows that for certain. He also knows he doesn't deserve it, not even a little.

When Aleks lifts his head and looks at James, his hair is a mess and pushed back at the front from the force of his hands, the same hands that settle awkwardly into his lap as though unsure of what to do with them. He's more outwardly concerned than James is, and despite his attempt to wear that familiar mask he often does around the crew, James knows Aleks. James knows he's worried and he knows the way his eyebrows are drawn down in the centre means he's either lost in thought or confused; or both.

“Will anything be okay?”

In James’ peripheral, he becomes very aware of Aleks’ attention on him, his eyes glued to James and his words directed at him and his body angled towards him. When Aleks runs a shaking hand through his hair, James breathes out, “No. I don't know. Probably not.”

“Well, thanks. That's… great, I guess.”

“Aleksandr-”

“Really, dude, thanks,” Aleks smiles, a hand reaching out to rest on James’ knee before he stands up and leaves. The room feels too empty now, too cold, too void of anything. And James watches Aleks leave, and he doesn't think about Aleks’ warm hand against his leg, or the vulnerability he revealed just for a moment, or how James wanted to tell Aleks in the moment that he hated him just so he'd have that reassurance that he does.

It wouldn't be right to say it now, when it wouldn't be the truth.

James watches Aleks’ retreating figure, and doesn't say a damn thing even when Aleks turns to look at him, as though expecting James to say something.

James doesn't say a damn thing.

.

It's difficult to pinpoint exactly how they got here, how Aleks’ text at two this morning has led to them sitting side by side on the hood of Aleks’ car. The sky is slowly getting brighter and it means they're a few hours closer to the heist, which James blames his skyrocketing nerves on. Aleks is nervous (worried) too, James can tell, as he finds himself placing a hand over Aleks’ uneasy one, cutting off the rhythm his fingertips are creating on the surface they’re sitting on.

Aleks doesn't say anything about it, and he hasn't said anything since James got in his car and they exchanged tired greetings of their usual back and forth, _Hey's_. The silence between them isn't exactly unusual, it's just unnerving.

They're quiet a lot, at work or at the bar or now - as they watch the sun rising slowly over a pair of mountains, the back of Aleks’ hand warm against the skin of James’ palm. The sky is pink and gold and light blue, and James doesn't know what to say, even when Aleks forgets he lit his cigarette and burns his finger on it, and James doesn't know whether to laugh or tell him to put it out.

“Can you drive?” Aleks asks, sudden.

“Yeah,” James sighs, and watches Aleks as he drops his cigarette and steps on it with his sneaker. “Keys?”

“I left them in the ignition.”

Something about it doesn't seem right, the awkwardness that hasn’t plagued the air between for weeks now seems to have returned. James debates asking what's wrong or if he's having doubts about the heist in three days, but Aleks has already gotten into the passenger side of the car and James is left standing here, watching nothing. He feels like an idiot, when his brain catches up and he realises at least an entire minute has passed.

He says a silent goodbye to the landscape and turns to the car, to Aleks sitting uncomfortably in his seat. James tries to avoid driving when he can and it's weird not being the passenger for once, but it also means he can focus on something other than Aleks; keep his eyes on the road instead of casting curious, worried glances beside him.

“I haven't been sleeping lots,” Aleks admits when James finally starts the car.

James gets out onto the road before he manages to say, “Because of the heist?”

“No.” Then, “I don't know, Nova, there's just - it fucking sucks, all of it fucking sucks. Can we talk about something else?”

“You played the new Counter Strike? That ‘global offensive’ shit?” James asks, sneaking a look at Aleks’ smile when he stops at a red light.

He drops Aleks outside of his apartment and almost has to shake Aleks awake. The sun is well into the sky and the heist is in two days, and James doesn't trust himself with Aleks’ car so he parks it close by and starts the far walk to his own place. It's cold this time of year, his frozen hands sheltering themselves in the front pockets of his zip-up hoodie, wishing desperately he'd brought a beanie with him.

The breeze shocks him with freezing air, ruffling what little hair he has and turning the tips of his ears red.

Before he realises he doesn't want to think about it, he tries asking himself what this all means; not completely sober texts to each other and late night drives and watching sunrises. But, he doesn't want to think about it, to decipher whatever this is.

He still hates Aleks. He hates him so much.

Except, he doesn't. He's just too stubborn to acknowledge it.

 _I hate you,_  James repeats, hoping it can somewhat help convince him that it's true. It doesn't, not even the smallest bit.

.

“Are we fucked?” is the first thing Aleks says when James has managed to drag himself out of bed to answer the knocking on his front door.

Aleks’ hair is a mess and in desperate need of a cut before it covers his eyes. His clothes are the same ones from the other night, and there are dark circles under his eyes, and James recognises this for what it is immediately. Pre-heist nerves, ones that he’s experiencing now but even more so when he first started working with Jordan a few years ago.

It's hard to feel like yourself before a heist, then easier during it, and then just as difficult right after. James has a feeling today won't be the best for any of them, particularly when he and Aleks are expected at work in ten minutes and Aleks is here instead.

“You look like shit,” James states. “... What's fucked?”

Aleks exhales, heavy and tired, and James is about to say he shouldn't do the heist when he's this exhausted when Aleks says, “This heist. I - I don't know, man, I have a bad feeling about it. Right here. Where my bad feelings are and they're usually right.”

James clears his throat, aware of how painfully awake Aleks is and how his own sleep-heavy mind is scrambling just to keep up. He steps aside, cursing himself for it, and tells Aleks he'll be back in a second, just has to shower and put on some clean clothes. That, and be able to freely panic in the safety of his own shower; nothing says, _I have it_ _together_ , more than showering and showing up for work on time. With Aleks. They're going to arrive at work together.

By the time James has stood under the warmth of the tap for the few minutes he needs, the dread building in his chest shows no signs of collapsing. It's unbelievably ruthless despite its familiarity - he's beyond well acquainted with how heavy it is, sitting there and churning, and forcing him to stand with his eyes closed and his hands gripping the porcelain of the sink to ground himself.

He gets dressed one piece of clothing at a time, ignoring how eerily quiet Aleks is. That is, until he hears gentle rummaging around in the kitchen and is reminded of how long he's spent in here doing nothing but exactly what Aleks was probably doing before he showed up here.

God, James wishes he hadn't shown up here.

Against every voice in his head telling him he's safe in this bathroom, he opens the door with one quick tug. Aleks is sitting at his kitchen island on a stool, one hand on a mug of coffee and the other scrolling through something on his phone. There's another coffee nearby that James assumes is for him and he wastes no time wishing all this away, grabbing the mug before he can overthink this.

“Want me to drive?” Aleks asks, and he's talking about work.

James nods, thanking him for the coffee, and ushers him out the door before either of them could finish their drink. It's not like there isn't coffee at work, which there is, but - no one has seen this much of James' apartment before, not until Aleks. Aleks, who showed up at his door at six in the morning with messy hair and proof of a sleepless night clear in his features; who let himself wander and get to know James' kitchen too closely, and James is more than desperate to put an end to this.

The drive to work is completely silent, nothing other than the two of them listening and briefly humming along to whatever song plays over the radio. They get every red light there but make it on time to arrive just as Seamus is pulling into a parking spot in front of the building.

Jordan's standing outside waiting, arms folded and hat perfectly placed on his head. Sly is likely already inside with Joe, doing necessary checks, and James knows how chaotic it is before a heist, how everyone's heart has crawled up into their throats and no one is quite themselves until it's over with and they're okay.

“I don't...” Aleks hesitates, the car parked but the engine continuing to run. “Nova, I-”

“Come on,” James says, and is surprised by how soft his voice is. “Get out of the car, Aleksandr.”

Aleks remains unsure, running a hand through the messy hair atop his head. There's a stray piece that falls in front of his face that he makes no effort to move, and time comes to a stop when James reaches an uncertain hand out to gently brush the strands of hair back. James is sure it's so quiet he can hear Aleks stop breathing at the touch, and can hear himself swallow unwelcome nerves.

“Thanks,” Aleks says, clearing his throat. “I could've-”

“I know,” James interrupts, and Aleks turns to look at him as he does. There's an expression on Aleks’ face that James doesn't recognise, but he can see it because there's no hair in Aleks’ face to hide it; James did that, the expression and the openness of it.

“We should go.”

James nods, and Aleks drags his attention back to the street. They should get out, tell Jordan they're here despite him already knowing from the presence of Aleks’ car in the parking lot outside. Something's making it hard to move, even harder to find the motivation to get up and go on a heist that has every possibility of going wrong.

It won't, it absolutely won't. Jordan and Joe organised it, and they're smart, and they know what they're doing. Everything will be fine.

“Come on,” James says, tugging on his car door.

Aleks doesn't move or blink, just keeps his voice as even as possible as he says, “I’m starting to not like this. Heists and stuff.”

He forces a laugh that sounds like it hurts and James pulls his door shut, though not completely.

“We have to go.”

Aleks nods in response, fingers turning white where they're gripping the steering wheel. “I know, James.”

When they finally leave the car, Jordan's still standing waiting for them, aware of the oncoming chaos of the day.

Every morning of a heist is the same: everyone arrives slowly, running on little sleep and 99% coffee, and checking and rechecking and re-rechecking everything to make absolutely sure, then they grab their weapons and pile into the vehicle that will serve as their ride there and their getaway car, and they'll sit there for as long as it takes for their opening to come.

The waiting is the worst; sitting there, unaware of how this will turn out, hoping the people alive in this car right now will be alive in this same car in a few hours.

The time passes agonisingly slow, though to James it's like blinking and opening his eyes and suddenly being in a cold, concrete parking lot, three stories above the ground. There's a bank on the fourth floor that doesn't open for another few hours. It’s the one that they’re going for, the one that Jordan has visited a few times, and he's been planning this heist for so long that James can't see it going wrong.

There's no possibility of another crew showing up or of cops getting here in time to catch them or of one of them getting stuck in the bank. It's the perfect heist, from its technicality to the people pulling it off; James can't think of better people to have here, and that's including anyone else he knows. This is his crew and he trusts them, and they trust him, and they're going to be so rich after this.

Sly disappears around the side entrance, tugging at it to make sure it's locked before they bother breaking into the building. It opens easily, which means it was either carelessly left open or they need to keep an eye out for unexpected company.

“Probably a lazy guard,” Jordan offers, though no one seems comforted by it, including him.

The next thing that happens is so slow that James can't move quick enough to do anything. A late alarm is triggered by the door and they all freeze as the siren blares, casting red lights over the door Sly has his hand on. They're so still, barely breathing, even Sly with his fingers slowly drawing back to him, leaving the door open. It's too late to close.

“Nova, should we-” Aleks starts, cutoff when a bullet sticks in the concrete pillar next to his head.

He ducks slightly, eyes wide in shock, and James yells, “Go!” at him. Aleks disappears and James hopes he has the sense to make it back to the car, too preoccupied with finding the source of the gunshot to turn around and make sure. He has to trust, like he has to trust their friends have gotten to safety. He can make out Sly near the door and Jordan close by, whose eyes are focused somewhere behind James at the exact moment another gunshot nearly deafens James.

It's not that it lands close, just the echo. And it isn't until James hears the sound of Joe's voice yelling that he looks behind him, at the same scene Jordan is watching.

James’ heart stops dead in his chest.

 _“_ James?” Aleks tries, his hands stained red as his fingers curl into themselves. James’ legs feel too weak to move, and he barely has time to register that Aleks is too far away to save before he stumbles backwards and falls. Right off the balcony, to the cement three stories down, leaving a trail of his blood on the concrete.

James calls out, panicked and unable to breathe, and the hand he reaches out doesn't get the slightest bit close to Aleks. It's deafeningly quiet, and James is grateful that it's not enough so that he has to hear the exact moment Aleks hits the ground out of sight.

_“This heist. I - I don't know, man, I have a bad feeling about it. Right here. Where my bad feelings are and they're usually right.”_

The siren is ringing and there are no more gunshots, only the stunned breaths and slow movements of James and his crew. There's a distant yet close shriek below that means Aleks has stopped falling, and he's hit the ground, and he's dead. James doesn't want to see it - _him_ \- but his mind is already conjuring up images of Aleks, bones broken and heart not beating and clothes soaked in his own blood.

He was wearing his hoodie, that fucking hoodie he never takes off. His hoodie is going to be ruined.

“Nova, we have to go,” and it's Jordan, a hand on James’ shoulder. His eyes are wet, voice broken though confident. “I'll get the body, I'll figure out a way so we can bury him. I promise, okay? Come on.”

James stands on his own, fingers shaking as they grasp his gun, and Joe seeks him out, cold hands as he helps him get into the back of their van. Everyone's so quiet that James wonders if they can hear how dangerously fast his heart is beating, or if they could listen close enough to hear it break. Because, James thinks it might break, and he wants to go home to sleep and to shower, and to forget this.

“Are we just gonna leave his body there like that?” Sly asks, voice cracking. “This is messed up, man. This is so fucking messed up.”

“I'll get it,” Jordan reassures. “I promised James, I'll-”

“This is what James fucking wanted, isn't it? Wanted Aleks dead this whole time, almost did it himself.”

James stiffens, all eyes on him, and he purposely avoids glancing around the car in fear of seeing how his friends are looking at him and then being unable to forget it. If he closes his eyes for too long, Aleks’ death plays on the inside of his eyelids, and it's a combination of motion sickness and accusation and Aleks being dead that dredges up that sludge of a coffee Aleks made him just hours ago.

He doesn't ask them to pull over, and he surprises himself when he says, “I didn't want _this_.”

He wonders if they believe him, if Aleks ever mentioned that he thought they were friends, and if anyone noticed that Aleks called out for _him_. James swallows whatever bile has risen in his throat and glares out the window, Sly's expression a combination of anger and something apologetic. It's not enough, and an apology wouldn't be either.

It's been five months since Dan, and since Aleks showed up and never left. It's been barely five minutes since Aleks died, and James knows his body will still be warm where it is, blocking the path of early morning commuters.

_I'll be scared of losing you if you stick around._

Seamus drives them back to work and James and Jordan are the only ones who don't leave immediately. James stares at Aleks’ car, sitting there in the parking lot destined to never be driven again. He thinks about a few days ago, behind the wheel after watching the sun rise, leaving it for Aleks and walking home.

Joe gives James’ shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he walks past, following after Sly.

At the end of the day they'll all end up on their own, no matter who drives who home. They never mourn together. But they'll all show up here tomorrow and they'll all be dirty and tired and done. It's just what they do, what they've always done.

James considers calling Brett before he tells himself it's a bad idea; he wants to be alone, and when Aleks was alive sometimes 'alone’ meant, “I'm getting out of here, are you coming?” or, “I'm leaving but you can follow me if you promise not to talk.” They had a routine, and James got used to it for the month it lasted.

“You should take his car,” Jordan says, coming up beside James. “He'd want you to have it, you know.”

“I don't want it.”

Jordan nods, understanding, as his face gives away how close he is to breaking down right here. James wants to comfort him but he has no clue how, and he's never really been the type.

He does the same comforting, 'I get what you're going through’, bullshit shoulder squeeze that Joe did to him and walks in the direction of his apartment despite how much his feet ache. It'll take twenty minutes to get back to his home and usually that would be intimidating, now it just seems like not enough. Twenty minute walk - then what is he supposed to do?

It takes twenty five minutes, on account of police cars and fire engines and ambulances that a sinking in James’ chest tell him might be for Aleks. He makes it home, unsure of whether or not he really wanted to.

_I hated him, I hated him, I hated him, I still hate him. I hate him so much it hurts, I -_

Aleks’ unwashed coffee cup from this morning is still sitting on James’ counter when he finally works through the tremble in his hands to get his door open.

James doesn't sleep for the whole thirteen hours he spends lying in bed.

.

They all show up to work.

James walks and it takes him fifteen minutes, because he's getting so tired of only having his own voice that he walks faster so he doesn't have to be alone. Sly's car is pulling in with Joe in the passenger seat as James spots his building, Jordan's car already parked. Seamus always takes the day after a heist off, so James doesn't bother searching for his car, and he doesn't bother looking for Aleks’ car.

It's there. Same place as yesterday. Where it's doomed to spend God knows how long.

Joe waves as James crosses the lot and Sly looks over but that's all - James doesn't expect today to go well, not with how similar it is to when Dan died and they almost broke down their crew completely. They were a mess, of grief and agony and blame, and trying to move on when they weren't ready to. James still isn't sure they are, but life doesn't slow down to let you figure it out, if he's learned anything this year it's that.

There are voices inside when James gets in, unshowered and wearing the jacket he usually only wears when he's sick or hungover. It means _don't look at me_ and _don't touch me_ to the rest of the crew, and for the most part they listen to it.

“What the fuck?”

James has heard Jordan swear only one other time, when Dan died and Jordan lost his best friend and his second in-charge within the same second. None of them have been the same since, but swearing is a bit _too_ different to Jordan's norm, and James’ feet carry him a bit faster towards the source of the voice.

“Is this a joke to you?” Jordan presses, and James recognises the sound of a gun, of its safety being turned off. “You can't just -”

“Jordan-”

James freezes in the doorway, his entire body swaying uneasily on already unsteady legs. Jordan's 'What the fuck?’ was completely justified, but he's holding a gun and Aleks’ hands are raised, and it's so ridiculously familiar that James wants to laugh. He wants to laugh, because he has clue what else to do other than stare - Aleks is here, and he's alive, and Jordan is holding a gun, and James is going to get Aleks out here.

Aleks pauses and his eyes meet James’, the cold expression on his face giving way to something else. It's soft; it's gently raised eyebrows and lips parted as though he's going to speak but he's cut off, by James taking a small step forward and Jordan's hand raising the gun the slightest.

“Immortal?” James breathes, and wants to laugh again. _Immortal_. What the fuck.

“Nova?”

Aleks is wearing the same clothes as yesterday, his hoodie stained red and ruined. No amount of cleaning would get that red out; James can't even count on both hands how many pairs of shoes he's had to toss after a heist. But, this is Aleks, and he's wearing his hoodie, and he's okay.

He's okay.

James takes a few more steps, more towards Jordan than Aleks. The gun is cold when James presses his hand on it, pointing it towards the ground. Jordan is a statue, barely blinking despite how heavy his breaths are. Aleks is alive and okay, and Jordan was going to shoot him. He was going to shoot Aleks in his office, because he's alive.

“Let's go, Aleks,” James says, not tearing his gaze from Jordan. No one moves, until Aleks curls a hand in the back of James’ jacket and tugs a little, either trying to make sure he's coming too or to show that he's desperate to get out of here.

James unwraps Jordan's hands from the gun and takes it carefully, flicking the safety on and keeping his own fingers wrapped around it. Aleks tugs again, until James stumbles back a step into him and then they're walking, right out the door and into the hall, Jordan left behind in his own confusion as James and Aleks walk on clumsy feet right out the front door. They don't speak, and they don't make eye contact, just both go straight to Aleks’ car.

James gets behind the wheel and doesn't waste a moment backing out of the spot and driving. He doesn't know how much time has passed before Aleks speaks, voice unused and so sorry James wishes they were still tortured by silence.

“I was going to tell you.”

“You were dead, Aleksandr. You were fuckin’ dead-”

“I know, I know,” Aleks breathes, running shaky hands through his hair. “I tried to call, I lost my phone.”

James doesn't know where he's driving to, just that he's driving and they can't go back, and Aleks is sitting in the passenger seat of his own car and he's alive. James almost considers driving home to fall asleep, so he can wake up and make sure this is all real. It seems real, in the same way it seems impossible, and in the same way he's nearly one hundred percent certain that this isn't a dream.

If it is a dream, he's going to need to do some serious thinking when he wakes up. The way Aleks leans towards him and places a bruised hand on James’ thigh is too real, and so is the way his heart is beating so fast he's worried it might burst right out of his chest. This isn't a dream, not with how cold of an absence Aleks’ hand leaves when he pulls it back into his own lap, leaving James untouched once again.

“You're dead.”

Aleks nods slow in his peripheral, gaze cast down. “This happens sometimes. Dying and then… being really not dead. I didn't think Jordan was going to shoot me, holy shit?” A carefully calculated pause, then, “Would you have? If I'd shown up at your apartment?”

“No.”

“Thanks?”

Aleks exhales heavily, rubbing stars into the backs of his eyelids. James notes how exhausted he looks and wonders if dying is like sleeping, or if Aleks is lying about all of this. James shuts down any thought his brain decides to expand upon, because he trusts Aleks, and he knows Aleks wouldn't lie about something like this. James has to trust that he wouldn't, like Aleks would trust him.

“You know, _Immortal_ , it's common courtesy to wash your fucking cup at someone's house. If you're going to let yourself in and help yourself, you wash the dishes you make… prick.”

Aleks stares. “What?”

“You didn't wash your coffee cup. I had to walk home yesterday and wash it for you. You're an asshole,” James punctuates, looking directly at Aleks for a long second when they hit a red light.

“Uh, I died?”

If James is angry - even mock angry, which takes more energy to conjure up than the alternative - then he can't be any of the other things he is. If he's mad about an unwashed cup, he can't be upset that Aleks died. If he makes a fuss about an unwashed coffee cup, he can't focus on how confusing this all is, sitting in Aleks’ car next to Aleks the day after Aleks died. If he pretends he went home and cleaned dishes instead of lying in bed, reliving Aleks’ death and the softness of the 'James’ that became his last word, then he doesn't have to admit what really happened.

That he went home and struggled to open his door because he couldn't keep still enough to get his key in the door, and that the sight of Aleks’ cup was, ridiculously, the last straw.

That he slid down his door clutching his keys so hard they imprinted their shape into his palm, and he considered calling Brett to tell him what happened, or calling Aleks to drive him being dead home.

That Aleks’ cup from yesterday morning is sitting smashed on James’ floor, and James hasn't bothered to pick up the pieces.

It's better to pretend he's mad. It's _simpler_.

“And here you are,” James retorts. “Perfectly alive and capable of doing the dishes.”

Aleks swallows, and his eyes are so sad that once James looks at him and makes eye contact, he can't look away. He wants to but he can't - a) Aleks is sorry that he died and came back, and b) James forgot in their hours apart what exactly Aleks looked like, and now he's sitting at a red light memorising every inch of Aleks’ face as if it's the last time he'll see it. It isn't, because Aleks came back, and he'll always come back, and James doesn't need to remember.

It's easy in the moment to forget that he hates Aleks. The car behind them beeps and it shakes James awake but barely, reminding him that he and Aleks aren't friends and never will be and this is ridiculous.

Aleks clears his throat, eyeing the green light telling them to go. James returns his gaze straight ahead and drives, not bothering to ask where their end destinations is because he's not sure Aleks knows himself. They could go back to their crew, considering James’ best friend is there, but James doesn't turn the car around. He just drives. And drives. And ignores Aleks’ gaze on him.

And if at some point Aleks falls asleep and James takes his eyes off the road for dangerously too long so he can admire him, no one needs to know.

.

 

**Somewhere outside of Littleton CO, early January 2013.**

 

They drive for three days and James ignores every text and call he receives. He doesn't know where they're going or if they'll ever stop, just that Aleks can die and come back, and that he's been thinking too much about how he feels about it. About Immortal being immortal, and about James not hating him. He wishes he could, but there was a moment between the first time they met five months ago and now where James realised it wasn't true - that 'I hate you’ was bitter, wishful thinking.

Aleks died, he _died_ , and James loved him.

Aleks is alive, he's alive, and James loves him.

He doesn't know how to tell him or if he should. He thinks about it while Aleks is asleep; how would he react if James erased the friendly line between them that wasn't even meant to be friendly? James really did hate him, but only before he met him, and Aleks had his sleeves tugged over his hands and his hair shoved messily under a beanie, and said, “Hey,” and James hated him.

He hated how easily he fit in, like the space left behind by Dan was made just for him. James hated him for that, for seeming like a replacement to a friend James found himself missing everyday. He hated Aleks for being so easy to like, and James hated that he could look at him and know how badly he would miss him some day, that if Aleks stuck around and then left, it would hurt.

James did the only thing he's capable of doing in a situation like that: push Aleks away so he couldn't get hurt when Aleks inevitably left.

Except, Aleks snuck his way in and James couldn't deny himself of it, no matter how hard he tried to hate Aleks. He really did try, if it matters; he didn't try enough, though, and now they're outside of Colorado together and James is trying not to crash while having this epiphany.

His hands are so sweaty on the steering wheel he's worried he'll lose control.

“Eight across, the name of an exploding star?” Aleks reads, chewing on the end of a pen he was keeping in his glove box. They picked the crossword up at a gas station a few miles back and Aleks is insistent on being able to complete it before they have to stop for gas again.

“Supernova.”

“That… fits.”

“'Cause it's right?” James laughs.

Aleks restrains a smile, voice mumbled as he says, “That's not funny.”

“Fuck you, ‘that’s not funny,’” James grins, and manages not to swerve off the road when Aleks leans over and shoves him hard in the bicep. “It's hilarious. You're an idiot.”

“James! I said it's not fucking funny,” Aleks presses, but James can hear the forced concealment of amusement that is heavy in his words.

Aleks calls him James, and James aches with how much he wants to hear his name falls from Aleks’ lips for the rest of his life.

He almost turns back to the road when Aleks says his name again, and it's desperately sad in a way James doesn't understand and doesn't bother deciphering. It makes sense when Aleks speaks, and James wants to go home now more than ever.

“You still hate me, right?”

James inhales sharp, and can't bring his eyes to meet Aleks’. “Never stopped. Now finish your fuckin’ crossword, that cost me five bucks.”

 _I love you, James_  thinks but doesn't say.

 _I love you_ , James thinks _, and it feels like betraying myself._

.

James has been having these dreams, ever since Aleks died.

He's standing too far away and he's moving too slow and Aleks is screaming or falling or bleeding out on the floor and no one does anything. In some dreams, they yell at James to do something, ask why he isn't helping, and Sly says this is what James had planned this whole time, letting Aleks die.

In other dreams, the others all stand around watching and James thinks he might be crying when he screams at them, begs and pleads and yells, “Why aren't you doing anything? Why aren't you fucking helping him?”

He doesn't know which dream is worse. Whether it's the way Aleks dies or James’ inability to help in every situation - either helpless or trying and failing to help. Every time, regardless of _how,_  Aleks always says James’ name, with blood on his lips and hands, a direct clip of audio taken from James’ memory to torture him as he sleeps.

James in the dream doesn't know that Aleks will come back, because that's what he does. He dies and he comes back, and James doesn't want to ask how it is that Aleks has become the one person he can't lose; literally can't lose because he's immortal, and also can't afford to lose.

He doesn't tell Aleks this. He doesn't tell Aleks anything, really.

They spent eight days driving before they stop at a motel. Aleks doesn't have his wallet or his phone, just his car keys, and James does his best to ignore how quickly his already little funds get smaller. Gas and food aren't cheap, and neither are motel rooms, but they don't have much of a choice. James can't spend one more day cramped in that car, trying to fall asleep as it travels along a rocky road.

Sometimes he considers sleeping across the back seat, until he realises despite not being far from Aleks, sitting in the back is lonely. The passenger seat isn't ideal but it's all James has, and when he has another dream he can't wake himself from, Aleks grips the wheel with one hand and uses the other to shake him awake.

James doesn't sleep much; the nightmares don't help.

This is one of those things he doesn't tell Aleks.

They don't have any possessions, but Aleks has been in the same bloodied hoodie he died in and James doesn't like looking at it. They take turn showering and James visits a souvenir shop a few buildings over, and returns to the motel room with a bag of clothes and another crossword for Aleks. His credit card mourns in his pocket, seeing all the things he bought.

He hasn't visited many souvenir shops in his time but he didn't expect to find much stuff there and he's thankful that he did. He's even more thankful that he can take Aleks’ hoodie and clean it, and be able to stop thinking about Aleks dead on the concrete bleeding warmth through it. At some point he almost asked Aleks where exactly his phone was until he remembered that he'd fallen with it - if he'd had it on him when he came back, maybe he would've called James before going into work.

James knocks on the door when the shower stops running to hand Aleks a change of clothes, and ignores how choked Aleks’, “Thanks,” is. Whatever crying he's doing is well deserved at this point.

He comes out five minutes later, hands running through his wet hair. It occurs to James that he somehow picked the perfect sized clothing for Aleks without asking, and that he hasn't the slightest clue what they're doing here. He misses his apartment and work and Joe and the familiarity of it all; he doesn't know how much more of this he can take.

He cries about it in the shower.

This is another one of those things he doesn't tell Aleks.

They're clean and warm by eleven that night, bodies aching from all that time spent in the car. James is aware of how red their faces are, how bloodshot his eyes are, and says, “Got shampoo in my eye,” with a fake laugh.

James sits on his bed in cheap, awkwardly shaped souvenir shop clothes, realising quietly that Aleks pushed the beds the slightest bit closer while James was in the shower. He doesn't mention it, just crawls into bed tiredly and turns off the lamp sitting on his bedside table. The room is drenched in darkness when Aleks does the same, and it's so quiet, so pitch black, so calm, that James finds it hard to sleep.

“Aleksandr?” James tries, clearing his throat when he realises how weak his voice is. “You awake?”

Silence.

James falls asleep after too long of overthinking, and wakes to artificial light on the other side of the room and a warm hand on his arm.

“Nova?” a voice says, and it doesn't take long for James to place it. “James, it's just a bad dream. Wake up. Fucking wake up.”

James does, slowly, blinking heavy eyelids to adjust his vision. Aleks’ face with concern painted on his features is the first thing James sees, a hand moving to grab Aleks’ shoulder and make sure this is real. 

“What?” he manages.

“You were, uh, like, screaming? Kind of,” Aleks replies, voice soft. He's barely awake himself and James has to wonder how long he's been sitting on the edge of James’ bed trying to wake him. “Are you okay, dude?”

“You died.”

Aleks blinks gently, James’ eyes straining in the dim light to see him. “Oh. Is that…”

“What I keep dreaming about? Yeah.”

James pushes himself to try and sit up, and Aleks moves to sit properly and accommodate him. This is one of those things they don't talk about that they probably should - there's a long list of those, if James is entirely honest. Once he starts speaking about this, it'll be hard to not mention other things, like how much he misses Colorado, or how he's only having these dreams because he's pretty sure he's in love with Aleks.

He can't imagine either topic going well. They made a silent decision to leave Colorado and go anywhere else, and Aleks is here with a friend. A _friend_. James is his friend, and Aleks is James’ friend, and all of this is too much for James’ brain to handle now or even ever. He's exhausted, confused, and bordering on the verge of agitation, which are a triple threat of emotions that he doesn't want to deal with right now.

“I'm alive,” Aleks mumbles. “In the flesh. If it helps, I wasn't trying to die. And I don't want to die again, either. I kinda like being alive.”

James doesn't bother replying, just curls his hand into a fist and rubs at his eye. It's meant to help him be more awake but it has the opposite effect, reminding him of how exhausted he is and how little sleep he's getting. It's worse that he woke Aleks up, because now he's feeling guilty about not letting either of them get much sleep. It's enough that he knows Aleks was crying before and that James is the one who whisked Aleks away into his car and drove.

He didn't stop, he didn't ask Aleks if he wanted to stop - he filled up the tank, ignored the constant buzzing of his phone in his pocket, and he drove. Now he really doesn't know what to do, or if they should go back to Colorado and try to make peace with Jordan and the others. He images how awkward it would be, showing up with Aleks, who he's supposed to hate, and apologising for running away with him.

“Move over,” Aleks says, disturbing James with the suddenness of it.

“What?” James breathes, turning to look at him. “Why?”

“So I can get in,” Aleks replies, like it's that simple. Like James is going to make room in this small bed so Aleks can get in beside him and be kept awake for the rest of the night by James’ tossing and turning from his nightmares.

James finds himself lifting the covers enough for Aleks to take that as permission, settling in James’ bed beside him. They're sitting awkwardly and James is still rubbing static into the back of his eyelids, Aleks’ hand reaching out to grab James’ wrist. His hand is cold yet pleasant, and somewhat more gentle than James figured it would be.

“Sleep,” Aleks instructs. “I'm right here.”

James is aware of how loud and shaky his exhale is, eyes locking onto Aleks’ in the small distance between them. He considers a handful of things right now, in the almost complete darkness of the room, with Aleks’ hand not releasing its hold on him:

1) he could recount the past three weeks in his head and still not be completely certain of how he's found himself in this situation; 2) the sun is beginning to rise a little and they have to check out by ten and get back on the road, and they're both going to be so tired; 3) James knows he can never have Aleks, but for a brief moment he considers closing the space between them and letting James of the future deal with the complications of the impulsive kiss; 4) James can't think of anything worse than kissing Aleks only to be rejected.

He considers it, eyes boring into Aleks’. It would be so very easy to lean in and press a kiss on Aleks’ lips, to actually kiss him. It'd be the easiest thing to do in that moment, putting warm hands on him and pulling him close. It’d be so easy to have Aleks come apart in his grasp, to kiss his gasps from his mouth, to in turn come apart in Aleks’ hands.

“Six down, deeply longing for someone,” Aleks interrupts the silence, releasing his soft hold on James’ wrist.

“Pining?” James suggests, watching as Aleks counts on his hand. “That's _six_ letters, Aleksandr.”

“I wanted to make sure.”

“Five letters, name of someone who's an idiot.”

Aleks scowls for a moment, unimpressed, before saying, “James.”

James stares, wanting to bite off a rude reply like he normally would. It's hard, to sit here and pretend all of this is normal when it absolutely shouldn't be; he should hate Aleks, he shouldn't be here, he should've let Jordan handle the situation instead of jumping into the room to save Aleks. This was a fucking mistake. All of this has his name written over it because who else would be foolish enough to do all this. And if he hadn't left Colorado with Aleks, he never would've realised how he felt about him.

He's an idiot and Aleks is right, and James is going to end up waiting his whole life for Aleks. His whole life, for this guy who is his friend and also immortal, and who James wishes he could hate. Things were simpler when he pretended he hated Aleks, and now… And now they're a mess and it's no one's fault but James’.

“I like you,” James says, instead, and the words all but fall out of his mouth.

The darkness makes it hard to make out exactly how Aleks reacts to it, but James’ eyes are starting to adjust more to the lack of light. Aleks looks confused, above all else, and there's a blaring alarm in James’ head that's desperately trying to warn him against this.

“Okay…?”

“I - fuck, this is hard,” James sighs, grateful now for the disguise of night. “I like you, like, _like-like_. Cool. Yeah. Nice. Good talk.”

Aleks doesn't reply but he shifts slightly, and James assumes with a sinking heart that he's getting up, probably to leave. James wouldn't be surprised and then he'd have to sulk back to Jordan and beg for forgiveness for being so utterly stupid to leave with Aleks.

Except, Aleks doesn't leave, instead he places a hand on James’ face, unsure and shivering. It's ridiculous, is the first thought to hit James. They've known each other for almost six months and now they're like this, shy and scared and spending half of their time together in silence. This is different, though, very different, because Aleks leans in and James finds himself doing the same.

He wonders if they should talk about this or if they'll be together in this motel room then Aleks will wake up later and pretend it never happened. Maybe he'll say he was lonely or he was pitying James or that it didn't _mean_ anything because they're two hot blooded guys who have been on the road together for over a week and it was bound to happen at some point; but it doesn't _mean_ anything.

James wants to talk but his words are drowned in his mouth when Aleks kisses him. It's so soft that James is scared of moving for a moment, until Aleks pushes forward and his other hand presses on James’ thigh, spreading warmth. The kiss is hot though tired, and the sun outside is rising high and flooding the room with light. James takes a second to watch the orange hue cross Aleks' face, softening his features while his rough hands wander across James' body.

“I like you, too,” Aleks murmurs, the hand once on James’ cheek experimentally moving across his lap. “Is this okay?”

“You like me? I never would've guessed.”

“James,” Aleks warns, the hand on James’ thigh moving closer to a willing target. “Is this okay? You have to - fuck - you have to tell me that this is-”

“It's okay, you're okay,” James interrupts, aware of how out of breath he is. “Is it okay if I-”

“Yes. Definitely yes.”

Aleks opens his mouth in a soundless gasp as James lets his hand slip under Aleks' shirt, playful and curious fingers exploring the expanse of skin that James' eyes never got to see before. Aleks' hands on James' upper thighs now serve as more of a gentle friction, fingers teasing the zipper of James' pants with all the intention of undoing it, but not yet. Not when his brain seems to be more focused on James' touch to do any touching in return.

James doesn't push, even when Aleks gasps become more breathless as James’ fingers slide under the waistband of Aleks’ pants. His breath is warm; warm as the morning light painted over their skin, as the hands roaming across each other’s body like they could never get enough.

It's been so long since James had anyone like this, and now he does and it's _Aleks_.

They're both tired, from late nights and early mornings spent asleep in the passenger seat of Aleks’ car or driving carefully through deserted roads. It's not Colorado, and it's not last year, but James is almost thankful that they're a vast distance from Littleton and from July 2012. To James, it seems like another life ago, and for Aleks it _is_ another life ago.

It's not Colorado but it's cold outside. Aleks is unbelievably warm, considering, and he feels safe, like a place James could spend the rest of his life at. He doesn't know entirely if this is what love is, not when he's only twenty-two and has never been in love before. Not before Aleks, at least. Aleks, with his mouth moving against James’, the space between them a mess of panting and heat and sweat, and fingers exploring whatever expanse of skin they can.

James’ thoughts are going a hundred miles per hour, and his breath hitches when Aleks finally tugs impatiently at his jeans. And _oh_ \- James could get used to this.

They all but collapse into each other when they finally find a rhythm, Aleks’ hands leaving James’ thighs cold as they focus their attention somewhere else. Aleks comes apart in James’ hands as his own pause and as James kisses the gasps from his mouth, arms aching but spurred on.

James, in turn, comes apart in Aleks’ hands, and falls into him, head on Aleks’ shoulder, eyes closed to the sun. The morning is bright and perfect, as Aleks leans into James, breathing heavy but content. Something about it is painfully unreal and James has the sense to wonder if this is a dream, a whole new form of torture for him to suffer through while asleep. It's better than reliving Aleks’ death over and over again, he'll admit that.

“Do you still hate me?” Aleks mutters, and James can't figure out whether or not the question is genuine. He doesn't, he barely ever did, how could he?

“Fuck off,” James mumbles into Aleks’ skin, words vibrating against his shoulder. This feels real, _Aleks_ feels real.

“... Do you?”

“No,” James says, and Aleks deflates, as if he was holding tension in his lungs. “I was scared.”

“Okay. That's okay.”

And it is okay. Everything's okay. It's more than okay.

.

 

**Somewhere in Littleton CO, March 2013.**

 

For too long, it felt as though they'd never stop driving. James could never get behind the wheel of a car again and be happy, but Aleks couldn't, something about enjoying the freedom of speeding on empty highways and liking how in control he feels behind the wheel.

James laughs and says he's an idiot, and Aleks asks about his crossword - “Eight down, starts with 'B’, means strongly infatuated”, Aleks says, chewing on his pen. James pauses at a red light, says, “Besotted?” - and they don't talk about how they've found themselves back in Colorado after two months.

It was inevitable, really, that they'd come back here. James hasn't stopped paying rent for his apartment and he never officially told Jordan he quit; they up and left their friends with no warning, and they're going to have to explain everything. From Aleks’ immortality to the moment with Jordan and a gun that James would rather forget, to James and Aleks themselves, besotted with one another.  They don't discuss telling the others but they'd figure it out eventually, considering they ran away together.

James just wants to be forgiven, that's all. He wants to tell them everything's fine and okay, and then go back to his apartment and Aleks’ old coffee mug shattered on the floor, and try to maintain some normalcy.

It's the heists that have him worried the most. He knows Aleks will come back if he dies but he doesn't want to have to watch him die, not like in all those dreams he's been having. He also doesn't want to die himself and leave Aleks behind, _his_ Aleks. It's odd how simple and natural it is to say that, to hold Aleks’ hand as they drive and to wash each other's hair in the shower and share a bed and roll 'I love you's’ out of their mouths as easy as anything.

James doesn't remember exactly when he and Aleks met, or how, or why, or what he said. Memories of it are distant and out of reach, no matter how hard he tries to scrape his brain for fragments of their first conversation; he remembers his first thought, eyes settled on the surface of this kid, with too much hair and too much mouth, and a hoodie two sizes too big: _I'll be scared of losing you if you stick around._

James is, if he's being honest.

That same voice in the back of his head reminds him that he might’ve been for longer than he'll ever admit. He's known Aleks for seven months now, and he knows that he's stubborn when it comes to almost everything despite James’s effort to convince him otherwise, that he threw away that old hoodie he died in two months ago and insists on wearing James’ jackets when it's cold out, that his hair is short and messy because James cut it one early morning in a gas station bathroom, and that James loves him.

They are the same people they were months ago, but somehow they are the versions of themselves that they'd only be together. James and Aleks, no longer hiding behind being Nova and Immortal.

It's a  blessing and a curse that James can't hide from Aleks. There are days where he knows he's quiet, too lost in thoughts, and Aleks drags him out of it without being asked to because he _knows_ James. James looks at him, at this boy, with his short hair and James’ jacket loose on his frame and his crossword in his lap, and doesn't understand how he ever could've not trusted him.

Maybe it's poetic justice that he never trusted Aleks and when it came down to it, James was the only person Aleks really trusted. They trust each other now, more than anything, and it makes past events sink in even harder. No matter how hard James tried to push Aleks away, Aleks didn't leave; he stayed every time, through everything. And, in turn, James fell in love.

They drive. And they drive.

And Aleks’ hand is warm in James’.

 

**Author's Note:**

>   _links:_
> 
> personal tumblr [here](http://gavinsaleks.tumblr.com) !  
> new cowchop sideblog [here](http://linzbots.tumblr.com) !  
> writing sideblog [here](http://fakespoetry.tumblr.com) !
> 
> ♡.


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